Own Me (The Wolf Hotel, #5)

“That’s better.”

The elevator doors open. Henry guides me out while I admire the pearl and diamond ring on my finger, wondering for at least the hundredth time if this engagement is a dream that I’m about to wake from.

The scent of fresh paint tickles my nostrils. It still lingers, weeks after Henry ordered a wall built for added security. No one will ever surprise us again like Scott did, he insisted when the workers showed up.

The phone to the lobby security is ringing as we step into the penthouse.

“Yes?” Henry says by way of greeting, then frowns. “Again? What time is it?” He checks his watch as he asks this. “No … no … send her up. Please … That’s fine.” He drops the receiver on the base.

“Send who up?” I ask warily.

“My niece is paying me another visit.” He gives me a knowing look.

“Violet?”

“Or whatever her real name is.”

“Now? How did she even know we came home?” I didn’t see her sitting in the lobby area. I would have remembered her.

His frown grows deeper. “She must have been watching the building from the outside, waiting for me to come home. Who knows how long she’s been sitting there.”

Hours, maybe. And what if we had come in through the parking garage? Her efforts would have been all for nothing.

“Is this a good idea?” While the teenage girl didn’t appear to be a threat, looks can be deceiving, and this whole situation reeks of desperation.

“Probably not, but she told security she’d wait outside for the reporters to come back and then cause a huge scene if they didn’t let her up to see me.”

I groan. “That’s all we need.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Henry sheds his jacket and tosses it on the hook. “It’ll be fine. Sullivan’s escorting her. How much trouble can she cause with him here?”

A moment later, the elevator dings. I hold my breath as we watch Violet step out, her shoulders hunched within a black hoodie, the hem of her blue jeans dragging across the travertine marble floor. A ponytail gives her a more youthful appearance.

Her wide blue eyes skitter over the grand penthouse foyer with lightning speed before settling on Henry and me.

She looks so familiar, but I can’t place it.

“Hello again. Violet, is it?” Henry asks cordially.

She lifts her chin as if steeling her nerve and casts a glare at Sullivan. “Do these Neanderthals search everyone before they’re allowed up here, or is it just innocent girls you’re afraid of?”

She doesn’t seem terrified of him this time, at least.

Henry’s piercing gaze holds her.

I used to shrink under that attention before I got to know him. What I would give to read his mind right now.

“Sullivan, that’ll be all,” he says smoothly, never releasing Violet from his sight.

The security guard disappears into the elevator.

Henry folds his arms over his chest and takes a casual stance, leaning against the wall. “Do you mean innocent girls who loiter outside my building and threaten to cause scenes? Or innocent girls who lie about who they are?”

Alarm flashes across Violet’s expression. “So you know who I am?”

Henry pauses as if to consider his answer. “I don’t think you’re Scott’s daughter.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” She hesitates. “I’m yours.”

Henry blinks several times, the only sign that she’s caught him off guard. “So now we’re playing this game, are we?” he says, his voice edged with cold calm.

“It’s not a game. You’re my father.”

“And yet I was your uncle only minutes ago.”

I study her more closely.

Her blue eyes …

Her jawline …

The shape of her nose …

A sick feeling swirls in my stomach as a voice inside my head confirms what I saw but couldn’t see. She looks like him.

“Yeah, I … I lied before,” she stammers, the first break in her tough act.

“What’s wrong, you realized being my niece wouldn’t get you a payday?”

She flinches. “I don’t want your stupid money.”

“No? Well, that would be a first. Tell me, how old are you, Violet?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen,” he repeats, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Violet pulls her shoulders back. She seems to be clawing for confidence. “Yeah. Sixteen in January.”

Henry barks with laughter, but it’s a hollow sound. “Which means I would have been, what, sixteen when you were born?”

“Yeah? And your point is?” She glares at him. “You do know how babies happen, don’t you?”

He opens his mouth, but stalls. Whatever he was about to say was likely not appropriate for a fifteen-year-old’s ears. “None of the girlfriends I had during that time ever had a baby.”

“Obviously, one of them did because I’m standing here,” she counters.

“And what’s your mother’s name?” He goads her.

Violet bites her bottom lip. Either she doesn’t have an answer, or she doesn’t want to give one.

“I thought so.” Henry’s mood darkens, his relaxed pose fading as he pulls himself up. “Enough of this shit. How much is Crystal paying you?”

Confusion flickers in Violet’s eyes. “Who’s Crystal?”

“Your loving grandmother, according to you.” The title is bitter on his tongue. “Let me guess—she’s figured out it’ll be years before she sees a penny from Scott’s estate, if she ever does, so she’s back to trying to get money out of me any way she can.”

I hadn’t considered that Henry’s mother might be involved in this. Would she stoop to this level, though? I recall the conversation I overheard between her and Scott at William Wolf’s funeral, about a possible windfall that would make Henry look like a chump.

Yes, she would.

But that doesn’t explain the resemblance between these two.

“So, what’s her plan, Violet?” Henry asks.

Violet shakes her head.

“There’s always a plan with her.” He steps forward. “There was a plan when she and Scott were conspiring about that mine, when they nearly killed me.”

Violet swallows. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“For your sake, I fucking hope you don’t.” His anger reverberates through the foyer, so sudden that I startle.

“Henry,” I warn. Regardless of what game this girl is playing, she’s still only a girl, and his fury with his mother is getting the better of him.

“I don’t know Crystal.” Violet blinks furiously against the well of tears forming. “I just wanted to meet my asshole father once, that’s all.” Her voice cracks with emotion.

Henry’s shoulders sink, his rage seeming to evaporate. “I’m sorry, Violet, but you have the wrong man.”

“Are you Henry Wolf?”

“Yes, but I am not your father.”

“Oh, yeah?” She digs into her backpack and pulls out a manila envelope, tears streaming down her cheeks. “This says you are!” She throws it at Henry’s feet and then spins on her heels and marches to the elevator to jab at the button. Sullivan must have sent the car back up to wait on our floor because it opens instantly and she’s gone.